by Pearl Tate
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
About This Book
CHAPTER ONE - Hannah
CHAPTER TWO - Hannah
CHAPTER THREE - Bren
CHAPTER FOUR - Hannah
CHAPTER FIVE - Bren
CHAPTER SIX - Hannah
CHAPTER SEVEN - Bren
CHAPTER EIGHT - Hannah
CHAPTER NINE - Bren
CHAPTER TEN - Hannah
CHAPTER ELEVEN - Hannah
CHAPTER TWELVE - Hannah
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Bren
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Hannah
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Bren
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Hannah
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Bren
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Bren
CHAPTER NINETEEN - Hannah
CHAPTER TWENTY - Bren
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Hannah
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - Bren
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - Bren
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - Hannah
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - Hannah
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - Bren
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - Bren
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - Hannah
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - Bren
CHAPTER THIRTY - Hannah
About the Author
BREN'S BLESSING
By Pearl Tate
Copyright © 2018 Pearl Tate
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Book Cover Design by Alena Marie
Website: http://pearltate.com/BookCovers
Instagram Account: http://pearltate.com/covers
Thanks to my girls for believing this was possible and to my husband who never doubted.
BREN'S BLESSING
I’m living my dream, rotating in space around Mars on the Mars Hope Skylab.
As the first American woman this far into space, I’ve accomplished more in my twenty-eight years of life than most. I’m a doctor too.
I enjoy my job, so when things go sideways as aliens board the Skylab, I try to stay positive and make sure that I just observe and stay alive. But I’m immediately grabbed and taken to their ship!
Unable to understand them and not knowing what they have planned for me, I have to make some hard choices about whether living is the best way to go. And how far will I go to live?
It appears that I’m now the property of the alien that grabbed me. He’s big, possessive and seems to want to get to know me a lot better…
CHAPTER ONE
- Hannah
I’m still in awe every time I look out the window, even after six days in space orbiting around Mars. The view of the planet captivates me. It’s amazing that I was the one chosen by human-kind to experience this.
I’ve always wanted to explore and push my limits. Now I have. In a world dominated by men, I’m the first person—man or woman—to orbit Mars. The first human to make it this far from Earth. The journey here took ten months, but truthfully it’s been a lifetime of pushing boundaries. I’ve broken the ground for future generations of women to go out and do exactly what they want and make a difference in their own world in their own way…
“Something isn’t right,” I mumble to myself while scanning the readings in front of me. The more stressed I am, the more I tend to talk to myself. It clarifies my thoughts, solidifying the end goal and making that goal seem more tangible. Either that or the isolation of space has muddled with my brain. “Exactly what I need right now,” I add, still grumbling to myself. It’s been over an hour since I last received an update from Earth. We have a very strict protocol of pings, what we call the in and out transmissions between us. Normally, a twenty-four minute lag is standard, but the cursory check-ins have not been arriving as expected. I have no way to know if they are receiving mine either.
“Not receiving transmissions. None since thirteen ten. Please respond.” Well, this is probably a waste of time, but I send it anyway. At least I can say I followed protocol. If they receive that, and they respond, it will take at least forty minutes. But since I haven’t been receiving anything on our scheduled check-in times, my guess is I won’t hear a thing. What would cause mission control to go dark?
“I have no idea. I’m a doctor, not an engineer.” I’m talking to myself again and my frustration grows with the situation. I am literally in the vast reaches of human-explored space. Could the radio silence mean the surveillance cameras are down too? The possibility that they are not getting any kind of transmission—that I am totally cut off, is frightening.
I can’t help wondering whether my parents are thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about them. My mom and dad were so proud when I was selected for this mission! Embarrassingly proud. And entitled too, based on what they spent on my education growing up. They never spared a dime when it came to the best schools, the highest-ranked professors and the most prestigious extracurricular programs. They didn’t let me forget about it either. They always had high expectations and while they certainly gave me the foundation to succeed, they expected me to exceed those expectations. Failure was not an option.
My surgeon mother was the most detail oriented and exact woman I ever met. There was a grade point average that very clearly the set the bar impossibly high and falling under that mark was not an option. A concept that my father still drills into his computer engineering team he manages at NASA. Their professions didn’t leave much time to interact with children and the most attention my sister and I received was when we were held accountable for our grades. Since we were in boarding school from the age of six, it usually only occurred twice a year. I was ten years old the first time I brought home a B on a report card. You would think someone had died when they spotted it. In addition to the grounding and subsequent tutor, I learned quickly that “Beckers don’t get B’s”.
Following in my mother’s footsteps, I studied Pre-Med at Harvard before applying for a prestigious residency for various medical studies at NASA. The studies monitored the effects of lack of privacy, sleep disturbances, monotony, and the discomfort of being in microgravity. The debate over sending a doctor versus an astronaut with a typical military background for the first trip to Mars lingered well beyond my appointment to the mission. The fervor eventually died down a month or two after the final decision was announced, when I easily ranked leaps and bounds higher than everyone else in the psychological resilience and self-awareness studies conducted to clear astronauts for space travel.
As the only crew member on board, I’m tasked with keeping notes and diaries on everything. From the high-risk and stressful situations to bone density and muscle strength in this environment, to the fact that the enormous tin can I have been sailing through space is now clearly malfunctioning. The last hour has been a real test of my patience with technology that should have been updated a decade ago. Calmly, I start through the checklist of everything I’m monitoring on the communication transmission console to see if I can identify a possible cause on my end for the silence.
I’ve been called cold and emotionless by colleagues in the past
, a stark contrast to my appearance since the I inherited my father’s red hair and light blue eyes I inherited from my father give off a playful, carefree vibe. Right now, I am anything but emotionless as my mind reels with the implications of what could possibly be happening right now. Communication lags were one of the largest concerns at NASA for this trip, due to how it can isolate the astronaut and put a strain on relationships. Though that hasn’t been an issue for me so far, the gnawing feeling that something is wrong is an uncomfortable sensation that I’m not familiar with processing. I was raised, with boarding schools and busy parents, so I’ve always been great at finding my own sensory stimulation to pass the time.
I keep a very structured schedule and right now I would much rather be in the hydroponic garden where I should be cultivating the plants that not only provide an organic air filtration system, but also makes a pretty tasty salad, if you can accept the absence of dressing. Twenty-eight years of being a proud meat eater and here I am craving rabbit fodder. Space will do some funny things to you once you’ve been up here long enough.
Focusing back on the console in front of me, I admit that everything looks normal. Nothing is obviously malfunctioning besides the wayward communication system. Logically, if everything else appears to be working properly but communications are not getting through, then something must be blocking them, right? That would make sense in occupied space but I’m not. I’m the only thing out here unless you count Mars twin moons and any mythological little green men that are on the surface of the planet. I chuckle at my humorless joke.
It’s not that I don’t believe there are other inhabited worlds out there. I do, but I think it’s silly to think they would be this close to earth. What are the odds? If there are any aliens on Mars, or in this area of the Milky Way, they would likely be some offshoot of humanity. At least, I like to think so. I like to think that we’d have at least something in common with them, whether it’s our determination to evolve at a steady pace or perhaps physiological similarities.
Frustrated, I stretch back and try to relax. I need a break. I’m not really hungry, but I could eat a fruit bar. Just as I select the peach flavor, I’m rocked by a sudden jolt that sends my snack flying out of my hand. The cabinet handle in my right-hand jerks as the impact runs through my body. I grab onto the side rail near my hip, as I steady myself instinctively.
I didn’t imagine that. It was slight but it was noticeable. That can’t be good. Has an object hit us? Has the Skylab been penetrated? I wonder if I’m about to die? Hull penetration would be fatal quickly…
I gasp as my thoughts are cut off abruptly by a squeaking noise behind me. Spinning around as quick as I can with no gravity, I stare at the hatch door. After almost a year of being sealed shut, the squeaking noise is coming from the handle as it spins. It starts slow but is picking up speed as the tension of disuse gives way.
If my heart could speed up more, it would. As it is, the traitor organ is thundering in a panic in my chest. An overwhelming sense of dread floods my system and I hear my blood roaring in my ears. My body is hyper aware of everything around me as my breathing hitches in a staccato rhythm. What is going on?
“Fucking hell.” I press my body back against the cabinetry as I watch the hatch slowly keep turning. Isn’t that thing locked? Where did that thought come from? Grabbing my head on each side, I rub my temples acknowledging that hysteria is settling in. Of course, it’s fucking locked. But it’s turning now.
Who could have unlocked it or…who did? There is no mistaking that I’m not imagining things. Something is most definitely trying to open that hatch.
A warning blast that sound like an air horn snaps me out of my daze. Springing into action, I float back to my control console and start typing furiously. Calling up Protocol Eight Point Two, I try to manually override the countdown that has already begun. Whatever hit or attached to the Skylab has either caused significant damage or triggered some kind of alarm. The onboard computers have detected a breach somewhere, whether structural or perhaps a security measure. The fact is that the self-destruct has been activated and in ten minutes, the Skylab will explode and I’ll be dead.
CHAPTER TWO
- Hannah
My attention goes back to the hatch over my shoulder. I watch the wheel on the door spin faster, round and round. My mind is slowly starting to pick up speed, just like the hatch turning in front of me.
So, there’s life out here. That is the only viable explanation for what is happening right now. Someone or something is out there and it’s trying to get in here. And now, due to a NASA fail safe that I don’t have the ability to turn off—or contact them to turn off, I’m about to be killed. Protocol Eight Point Two was designed as a last-ditch effort to keep our technology from falling into anyone’s else's hands. I always thought I’d only use it if I crashed on a planet or got knocked off course or whatever. I never imagined I would be alive when it activated or that I would have to watch the countdown screen as the numbers ticked lower and lower to my destruction along with the multi-billion dollar Skylab.
Who fucking knows what tripped it? That’s one thing you definitely learn as you are studying for years to travel into space. You learn what you need to know and prepare for the worst, but you don’t dwell on the negative possibilities. Come on! There’s so much fine print that no one could ever anticipate all the potential possibilities or outcomes. Everything is hypothetical anyway. I just never thought too much about it.
How could anyone know what happens when the hatch to a space station is opened from the outside? Nobody realized it was even fucking possible! “Well, NASA, if anyone can hear me, something or someone is trying to open the hatch from the outside. It’s triggered the damn self-destruct.” They should add that to the warning label on the hatch. Warning: Traveling to space may be hazardous to your health. You may die in a fiery explosion as some unknown entity triggers fucking Protocol Eight Point Two.
Well, if I’m going to die, at least I’ll get to see some aliens first. I can add that to the long list of firsts I’ve accomplished in this lifetime. Except nobody will ever know. Not NASA, not the asshole at university who told me I’d never make it, not my parents who expected perfection…I shove thoughts of my parents and sister aside, packing them tightly into another time box. No dwelling on the what ifs. Stay present with now. It may be inevitable, but I’m not dead yet.
A hissing sound starts as the seal to the door releases and begins to open. How will this work? Will they be wearing space suits? Will they breath air? Will they kill me immediately? Just who are they…questions are still whirling through my head as the door cracks open. On second thought, maybe I should’ve tried to hold it closed?
I’m not immediately pulled into space—that’s a relief. I’m having a hard time thinking beyond the next instant or so. Knowing you’re about to die will do that to a girl.
It swings wide fast and hard and I’m glad I didn’t try to hold it closed after all. My breath catches in my throat as an enormous shadow falls across the room. The opening for the hatch is approximately four feet around but the thing casting the shadow is huge! As it steps through, it has to bend over in half just to get through it. He’s easily seven or more feet tall! A gigantic alien just boarded the Skylab, except he’s not alone. My eyes widen and I press my body against the metal walls as four of them stream in behind the initial intruder.
No, they are all huge. Humanoid too. Two arms, two legs.
It takes a minute for me to realize they aren’t exactly floating even though I still am. They have some kind of propulsion boots that must be weighted for them to travel in anti-gravity. That’s awesome! The one who boarded first comes directly at me and my brain processes that it’s humanoid. From a distance, it might even be passable as human. It has two arms, two legs, a broad expanse of chest, but it’s not quite human.
“Um, hello?” I stupidly hold out my hand. What am I expecting? For it to shake my hand like a neighbor stopping by? Maybe I
was wrong about the life support compensating for the open hatch? I think I’m becoming oxygen deprived as I stare at the alien in front of me. It could almost pass for a man. A really big man. He looks vaguely familiar somehow. Of course, that could be a by-product of my brain dying a slow death from oxygen deprivation.
My hand drops slowly as I study him more closely. He definitely looks like a man. He’s tall, and even though he’s wearing clothing, I can see his skin is tanned and pulled taut across muscles that could easily squish me like a bug. His face is clean-shaven but the dark brown hair on his head is weaved into an elaborate style that trails down his overly broad back. I wonder how long that took to do? My mind wanders to the sister who I’ll never see again and the many childhood memories I have of doing each other’s hair.
The deep rumble coming out of his mouth makes absolutely no sense to me but it does pull me back to the present. The present where I’m going to die any time now. Smiling absently, and trying to look as non-threatening as possible, I consider my options.
Here I am. The very first person to ever meet an alien race—except for those people that get abducted. But those must be different aliens, right? These guys are hunks compared to the gray-skinned, thin aliens that people have been claiming abduction by for hundreds of years. My innate curiosity wins out. I have to know more.
Pushing off from console area, I slowly float across the few feet between us. It’s hard to process exactly how tall he is because our faces are at the same level as I float towards him. I’m aware my perspective is skewed by multiple factors right now—my fragile human system shutting down, the unadulterated fear of my impending death, and the literal awe of seeing an alien for the first time.
I use both hands to lightly grab his shoulders as he comes into reach. We stare into each others’ eyes as my heart tries to flail out of my chest. I can hear my blood roaring in my ears. He doesn’t appear afraid of me at all, more curious. If I had to judge his expression, I’d say he’s bemused. He’s probably wondering what the hell I am doing but these are the last minutes of my life.
